


When the birds sing

by Lascia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lascia/pseuds/Lascia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound offers Sansa a chance to escape Kings Landing, if only for a short while. There is a catch, however. What could motivate Sandor Clegane to take such risks for the Stark girl?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a drawn out work in progress. As a teacher I don't have much time to work on this, so I thank you in advance for your patience. This is also the first ASOIAF work I've attempted so forgive my unsteady characterisation and playing with dialogue. 
> 
> As always, these characters and the world they inhabit belong to the great GRRM. I borrow them for a moment and promise to treat them with care.

There were days when she forgot her grief. Clear days, when she was woken by the rare sound of migrant birds singing their delight of an open sky in a stifling city. These were the days when the heat and noise and stench of the people could not touch the coolness of the morning breeze, or the softness of the blue washed sky, or the gentle warmth from the still rising yolk-yellow sun. Most mornings, she awoke to the sound of a handmaiden clearing her throat or setting the table, shuffling her feet, sometimes humming an unfamiliar tune. On those mornings, Sansa remembered. Before opening her eyes to the day she remembered the sound of the sword sweeping through the air towards her father’s neck. She remembered the memories she could have created – hugging her father, laughing with her sister, speaking the truth – and she remembered that she had chosen a path away from such simple happiness. On those mornings, she awoke to grief.

But when the birds sang, Sansa could forget. When the birds sang her chamber seemed light and open. Her bed felt soft, her sheets felt cool beneath her and her pillows were plump. On such a clear day she would lie very still and listen to the opus of the northern birds. She imagined that they were singing for her – singing _of_ her, sharing her story. How does my story end? _Is this a song of sadness or hope?_

On this clear day, Sansa rose from her cool sheets and her plump pillows in search of the warbling visitors. Habit steered her first towards the armoire where she retrieved an embroidered muslin robe, imported from Dorne. It had been a rare gift from the Queen, given without meaning or malice, and was more beautiful than any robe should be. It would have been useless in Winterfell, too thin to serve its purpose, but in Kings Landing it was perfect. In her moments of madness Sansa imagined the reason she could not escape the city was because she had but one robe, a robe which suited the climate of one city. _How can I fly North if the clothes I wear would betray me?_

Sansa wrapped the robe around her before walking towards the open window. She rested against the wall made soft by the parted curtain and looked out. The people of the Red Keep were likely still slumbering and unaware that the air they were breathing was sweetest at this early hour. The northern birds continued their songs but Sansa could not see them and in truth she didn’t mind. Their song was still sweet and lifted her heart, if only for a while. Softly she began to sing an echo of the song of the visiting birds, her eyes closed. Sansa imagined herself in Winterfell. She stroked the pale red stone of the window which, in her sightlessness, she imagined to be the warm grey stone of the north. A breeze pushed the fabric of the curtain against her bare hand and she believed for a moment that she felt her direwolf by her side. _Oh Lady.._

Continuing with her song, Sansa tugged at the blue ribbon holding fast her night braid and dragged her slim fingers through her hair. On other mornings she would wait for her handmaiden to brush her hair and style it in the southern fashion. But on such a clear day it gave Sansa peace to pretend that the hand combing through her hair belonged to her mother. Her song had drifted away from that of the birds to a northern tune her mother had once sung to her. It was a simple melody with no words that Sansa knew of, a melody made for humming and hair combing.

A loud tattoo of marching guards willed Sansa to open her eyes, but she did not stop her song. _The changing of the guard. The day is here._ At the pit of her stomach Sansa began to feel the familiar hollowness form. _The whole castle will be awake soon enough. I should go back to my bed._ But returning to bed meant having to wake again, wake again to remembrance and grief. Sansa remained by the window, humming.

A sharp rap against the door of the chamber shocked Sansa to silence. The handmaiden did not knock, not for Sansa. The hollowness in her stomach grew to living fear, but the memory of her mother helped Sansa restrain it back as she spoke.

“Enter.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound has strange instructions for Sansa. What is his purpose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much a drawn out work in progress. As a teacher I don't have much time to work on this, so I thank you in advance for your patience. This is also the first ASOIAF work I've attempted so forgive my unsteady characterisation and playing with dialogue.
> 
> As always, these characters and the world they inhabit belong to the great GRRM. I borrow them for a moment and promise to treat them with care.

She did not expect to see _him_ , of all people, step into her chamber at such an early hour. The size of the man before her banished the cool, soft peace she had enjoyed only moments before his arrival. The Hound was dressed in crimson red and soot black and his dark hair clung damp against his face and neck as though he were fresh from his bath. The smell of him overpowered the soft breeze still teasing the curtains. _He smells of horses and sweat, yet he looks freshly bathed._ His face betrayed no thought or purpose, but his dark eyes burned – _oh gods, I’m staring.._

Courtesy forgotten, Sansa looked away and hid her embarrassment behind her speech.

“What – what are _you_ doing here at this hour? I am barely awake. I am not dressed – my handmaiden has not – you should not be here!”

The Hound seemed not to notice as Sansa fumbled to pull her thin robe firm against her body. “I knocked.”

“I expected a servant.”

“I serve the King.”

“A _lady’s_ servant. Why are you here, Ser?”

“Go to your bed.”

 _So this is how it will be. No courtship, no marriage, no knight._ The hollowness in Sansa’s belly was quickly consumed by a queer sense of calm. _He warned me with his words that the songs were not true. Now he has come to show me._ Sansa found courage to look upon the giant before her, blue eyes meeting grey. _Better the dog than his master_.

“I will do as you wish, my Lord. I only ask that you be gentle. The Queen will soon learn if you leave your mark on me. My handmaiden..”

The Hound lunged towards her, his face aghast. “What in seven hells are you talking about, girl? Who do you mistake me for? Get into your bed. Close your eyes. When they knock, do not answer. You’ll wait until they come in, do you hear?”

The tips of Sansa’s fingers prickled from shame. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or disappointment. _Silly girl. What would a man grown want with such a silly girl?_ She nodded at the man who had disturbed her cool, sweet solace.

“They’ll ask after your health. Maybe they’ll ask how you slept, if you passed water in the night – did you?”

Sansa blushed. “You ask the questions of a Maester, Ser.”

“Fuck your sers. Did you pass water in the night?” Sansa froze, unable to blink or speak or shift her gaze from the Hound’s snarling face. Groaning, the man moved in towards her bed in search of the chamber pot. Sansa found her voice and spoke loudly. “I did not. I did not need to. It is empty. Please, you’re frightening me.”

It was the Hound’s turn to freeze. He grabbed at the bed post, exhaling with force as he rested his forehead against it. As he spoke through clenched teeth he turned his scarred cheek towards her.

“Get in the bed, little bird. Take off your robe, bind your hair back, and close your eyes. When they come, do not answer. Let them wake you. When they ask after your health, lie to them. Tell them you are unwell. Your stomach feels empty, your head feels heavy. You’ve had bad dreams. You have a thirst that cannot be quenched no matter how much you drink, yet you pass no water. Your skin burns. Do you hear me?”

Sansa did not reply. Swiftly she moved towards her bureau and slipped the muslin robe from her shoulders, dropping it over a chair as though it was yet to be worn. The cool morning air no longer caressed her skin. She shook off goose bumps and returned to the window and crouched, collecting her ribbon from the cold stone floor.

“Are you in the habit of sleeping with your curtains pulled and your window glass open?”  
The Hound stood straight, still holding onto the bedpost, staring at the slender girl before him.

Sansa nodded. “It gets so warm in here. I feel as though I can’t breathe when the windows are pulled shut.”

The Hound snorted. “I had thought you left them open for the birds and their noisy chirpings.”

 _Did he listen for them also?_ “You hear the birds, Ser?”

“Aye, as does most of fucking Kings Landing. Bind your hair girl, you have little time.”

The Hound continued to stare at her as her slender fingers imprisoned her auburn hair in another braid. Sansa secured the ribbon in a simple but firm knot.

“No pretty bow?”

“It would come undone in my sleep, leaving my hair tangled. My handmaiden is not forgiving with her brush, so a knot serves me best.”

The Hound smiled, or at least Sansa thought he smiled. The scars on his face made it difficult for her to tell. She no longer felt fear when she looked upon the ruin of his face but she could not look for too long before she began to imagine the King pressing her own smooth face against an open flame. On this clear day turned grey, Sansa forced herself to keep looking. She saw his skin was flushed, as it was after he had worked his sword arm in the yard. His hair was not damp from a bath but from exertion. As though he could read her thoughts the hound blinked and looked around the room for a mirror. Upon noticing a tall looking glass past the bureau he strode towards it, swearing at his reflection.

“A rag. Fetch me a rag.”

Sansa frowned. “Pardon, my Lord?”

The Hound snorted. “You’re as stupid as the Queen says you are.” Glancing to his left, he reached for the muslin robe which Sansa had placed over the chair. Sansa frowned as the Hound used her robe to rub his hair and face dry of perspiration.

A fierce heat rose to the surface of Sansa’s skin. _Stupid girl, silly girl, head filled with songs. Must he remind me of what I know so well?_ Anger defeated restraint as she responded, furious. “A lady does not keep a store of rags in her chamber, Ser. I am not a servant. On that note, I am sure that the laundress will wonder why a lady’s morning robe stinks of a boorish man!”

Laughing, the Hound turned away from the mirror. “That’s it, little bird. Show me your claws. Mind you draw them back when the Queen and her boy King come knocking on your door. Now get in your bed and sleep, damn you, before I put you to sleep with my fist.” __

If she’d been in Winterfell, she would have stomped her foot and protested and whined her resistance. Instead, Sansa breathed deep and thought of her mother. Sansa had never seen her mother lash out or speak from immediate anger. Her mother was fiery and passionate and _strong,_ but she had not been rash. Catelyn Tully knew how to pick her battles, and her daughter would follow her example.

Without a glance at the Hound, Sansa followed his instructions. Her sheets were no longer cool and the fabric scratched at her cheek as she lay her head against the lumpy pillows. With a sigh, Sansa Stark closed her eyes and willed herself to think of sleep.

 _How can he expect me to feign sleep under these conditions? Why must I do this?_ The petulant child within threatened to bubble to the surface and fight this further assault against her freedom and happiness. Sansa swallowed hard. _Be calm, breathe deep. What could the Hound seek to gain from this farce? He has not lied to me previously. He must have his reasons, and I would be wise to listen._ Calmed, Sansa snuggled against her pillow and sighed. The chamber was silent.

 _Where is the Hound?_ As soon as the thought entered her young head, Sansa knew the Hound had not moved from his place by the mirror. _He is watching me_. The idea of the cruel-mouthed man staring at her as she slept pleased the northern girl. She remembered a story Old Nan had told her once, a lifetime ago, of a maiden cursed to sleep for a thousand years and the fair knight who had rode to her rescue.

_But the hound is not a knight, and I am not cursed. There will be no happy ending for my tale._

An echo of movement in the hall outside seemed to jolt the Hound to action. He grunted at the auburn-haired girl in her bed as he left the room. “You’re ill, little bird. Chirp your pretty lies the best you can.”

As the door rested shut against the stone frame, hollowness again settled in Sansa’s stomach.

 _I don’t have to pretend_.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much a drawn out work in progress. As a teacher I don't have much time to work on this, so I thank you in advance for your patience. This is also the first ASOIAF work I've attempted so forgive my unsteady characterisation and playing with dialogue.
> 
> As always, these characters and the world they inhabit belong to the great GRRM. I borrow them for a moment and promise to treat them with care.

Sansa prickled with anticipation. She could not say how many minutes had passed since the Hound had left her chamber. Time seemed to slow and race all at once. Her eyelids flickered, fighting against their closure. The nerves under her skin sparked a wave of annoying itches, willing her to move from her guise of slumber to seek relief. Sansa could not predict what would happen. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, grateful for her grip on solid ground yet tempted by unknown demons to fling herself over the edge. _I need to move. I cannot be still. They will know I am pretending._

Another moment passed. _Breathe, Sansa. Be calm, breathe deep._ Sansa worked to clear her mind and steady her breathing. _Breathe deep, breathe slowly_. She thought of Winterfell, of little Rickon sleeping by the fire next to his wolf, their chests rising in tandem. _Breathe deep, breathe slowly_. She thought of Arya curled up in Robb’s arms as he carried her to her bed after a long day’s ride. _Deep and slow_. _Deep and slow_.

Sansa repeated the mantra, chanting in her mind to evoke the magic of sleep. _Deep and slow_.

The door creaked open, but Sansa did not falter in her pretence.

 _Deep and slow_.

“Your Grace, the Lady Sansa is asleep.”

“Wake her.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Sansa reacted slowly to the hard nudge from her handmaiden. She pushed her face against her pillow and stretched out her legs, pointing her toes and moaning softly. “Is it morning already? I feel I’ve been awake for days.”

The handmaiden nudged again, harder. “My Lady, the Queen is in your chamber. Awaken!”

At this Sansa sat upright, blinking quickly and holding her hand against her temple. She swallowed once, rubbed her lips together and swallowed again.  
“Your Grace, I did not know to expect you. I am not dressed to be in your presence.”

Cersei stood tall in a scarlet gown, her hands folded before her. In the corridor Sansa could see servants peering into the room.

“It is early. I expected to find you asleep in your bed at such an hour. I should be concerned to instead find you awake and roaming the Keep.” A look of concern appeared on the Queen’s face. “Your handmaiden tells me you chose to rest early, yet for all your hours of sleep you look tired.”

 _Lie to them_. “I.. I had dark dreams, Your Grace. The treachery of my family has scarred my mind.”

The Queen’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps you shall feel free of such dreams after you break your fast with us.”

Instinct told Sansa to move her hand towards her stomach. “Your Grace, I thank you for your invitation but I would be an unwelcome guest at your meal. My stomach is hollow yet I could not bear to eat. Perhaps the dreams have taken my appetite.”

“Some water, then. Girl, fetch the Lady Sansa a cup.”

The urge to pass water hit Sansa as she watched the servant pour water from the jug that had rested on her table. She did not need to act as she smoothed her hand across her stomach towards her hip. _Think of stone, of soil, of dry tinder and hot fires._

The handmaiden held the cup towards her from a distance, forcing Sansa to learn forwards to take it. The pressure in her bladder increased. Breathing deep, she forced herself to drink. The Queen stared as she gulped the water down. _Like the Hound drinks his wine._

Sansa stared at the empty cup, her hand trembling. _You have a thirst that cannot be quenched_.

“I’d like some more water.” She held the cup towards the serving girl.

The Queen nodded at the handmaiden, who reached forward to take the cup. “Still thirsty, little dove? Are you unwell?” The serving girl moved off towards the water jug.

 _Lie to them_. The urge to pass water caused Sansa to grip her bedsheets. _Don’t betray me, hold on_. “I don’t know, Your Grace. I feel.. I feel strange. It could be the heat in here. I am sure I shall feel better after I bathe and dress.”

The handmaiden stepped towards the Queen, holding Sansa’s empty chamber pot. “Your Grace, the Lady drank both wine and water with her meal last night yet her pot is unused.”

“Are her sheets dry? Feel her skin.” The Queen could not prevent a look of disgust from holding her face.

“Your Grace, I am not a child! My bed is dry. Please, Your Grace, what is this about?” Sansa willed herself to think of her Father, of Lady and her sister and poor Septa. _Cry, you fool_. _You do it often enough when you shouldn’t_. Hot tears prickled at her eyes _._ The handmaiden reached forward and grabbed her arm, releasing it as though she’d touched a flame.

“Your Grace, her skin burns.”

“You may leave us. I will talk with the Lady Sansa alone.”

The handmaiden curtsied quickly before hastily exiting the chamber. Sansa wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain the act given her by the Hound. The urge to pass water grew dangerously stronger, and Sansa began to regain the sense of standing at the edge of a cliff. _Just jump, jump and be done with it. You can’t trust the Hound, this must be a trap. Jump_. The Queen walked towards the window and looked out at the open sky.

“Sansa, you are unwell. Infected. Grand Maester Pycelle believes one of the servants to be contaminated with this illness, perhaps one who changes your linen or lights your fire. You will be uncomfortable for a week or two but it will not harm you. However it could harm my sons. You see, boys are quite susceptible to this illness. Pycelle has records that suggest it leaves young men infertile and unable to produce an heir. Even a girl as naive as you could understand how important it is that my sons are kept away from this.. this _infection_.”

Sansa nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall be happy to remain within my rooms until I am deemed well. I would want no harm to befall my beloved Prince Joffrey. I would never risk his health.” _Lie to them_.

The Queen shook her head and spoke harshly. “No you foolish girl, you do not understand. I will not risk your presence in this city until I am sure a thousand times over that you will not contaminate my sons. You are to leave Kings Landing. I will send you to an old hunting lodge by the edge of the city. You will be safe.”

“Are you to accompany me, Your Grace?” Sansa pushed down at the glimmer of hope that threatened to force her to smile, to sing, to cheer with delight at the prospect of freedom. “I am unsure of what this illness is or how it is spread, but you have been in my chambers for some time now. I hope I have not made you ill also.”

“Do not fret, little dove.” Cersei’s mouth turned upwards in a smile but her eyes were cold.   
“I have had this sickness as a young girl and will not fall ill from it again, but there are many here who have not experienced it. All who are infected will be sent away. I will send your escort within the hour. You must prepare yourself for the journey. I will not risk sending a servant to assist you. It will only spread this further.”

“I thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa bowed her head as the Queen left her chambers, not stopping to close the door shut. The moment she could no longer hear the soft footsteps of the Queen, Sansa rushed forward from her bed and pushed the door shut. She frantically kicked the chamber pot towards her from where the handmaiden had left it, pausing only to shimmy her underclothes off. As she sat over the pot relief of many kinds swept over her.

 _That was close_. It would seem that Sansa owed the Hound a debt. A week, perhaps more, spent in the open air of the country away from the spies and beatings and claustrophobia of the Red Keep. _Who will escort me? A serving girl most like, one who has had this illness before._ Sansa hoped that whoever it was would be kind and would allow her to enjoy the small freedom she had been given.

Sansa stood, stepping out of her underclothes before carefully pushing the heavy pot under her bed. She stripped off her nightdressand moved towards her basin to wash. The water was cold but she had little choice. The sponge had never felt so soft as she cleansed the night from her skin. _I will be able to walk where I wish, I will sing and smile and feel sunshine without regret_.

Before dressing she misted rose water across her face and chest. Her gown was simple and plum in colour, easy enough for her to put on without assistance from a handmaiden. Sansa combed her hair through, letting it fall loose and heavy against her shoulders. _I’ll ask the girl who accompanies me to braid my hair in the Northern style. It won’t matter at all what I look like alone in the forest_.

The Northern tune that Sansa had sung earlier that morning returned to her heart, but she could not sing for fear of her good health being revealed. _There are still eyes in this castle, eyes and ears. I am not free yet_.

Sansa moved quickly now, collecting together the few things she would need to maintain her comfort in the forest. She folded a number of gowns into a travelling case, hiding her Northern boots at the bottom. _Embroidered slippers won’t serve me if I wish to explore and move freely through the woods_. Lastly, with little thought and much feeling, she placed the doll her father had gifted her in the case. _Sunshine without regret, but still I’ll remember_.

As Sansa clicked the case shut the door to her chamber opened. “I am ready to leave. I have only this case but I feel too unwell to carry it. You will have to take it yourself.”

A man laughed, a deep, grumbling laugh.

“Aye, I’ll carry your case for you Little Bird, as far as the gates of the city. Once we pass those walls you can bloody carry it yourself.”

Sansa’s heart fell.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Author's Note

Apologies for the delay in updating. I've hit a bit of a roadblock with this one. I'm seeking inspiration and have been thinking a lot on where to take this, because I have enjoyed writing it. Thank you for all of the absolutely lovely comments, your support is appreciated.


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